Every Moment Marked
by kohimiruku
Summary: Late at night, Watanuki watches Doumeki sleep. Rated T for swearing. In-progress, shounen-ai if you read it right.
1. Seeing

**Title: Every Moment Marked**

**Pairing: Watanuki Kimihiro/Doumeki Shizuka**

**Rating: T for swearing**

=o=o=o=

_"...and I have the sense to recognize __that I don't know how to let you go..._

_I'm ever swiftly moving, trying to escape this desire-the yearning to be near you..."_

_\- Sarah McLachlan, "Do What You Have to Do"_

=o=o=o=

Watanuki is staying overnight at Doumeki's—in the house where no one else seems to live besides his classmate—and the absence of noise is keeping him awake.

In his apartment, he's used to the dog down the hallway barking starting sometime after midnight and lasting for a few hours, and the couple living on the floor above him has biweekly arguments over household chores and missed date nights. At the shop, he can hear Maru and Moro snoring like the children they appear to be, and more often than not he can hear the faint rustle of silk as Yuuko-san walks around during the night.

But at Doumeki's, all Watanuki can hear is the other boy's slow, deep breathing, and that's only if he strains his hearing. Doumeki is only a futon away, barely inches from Watanuki's own. It had bothered him in some way, sleeping so close together as if implying an indecent sort of relationship, but he hadn't spoken up. Having Doumeki so _close_ also gave Watanuki a sense of relief; nothing sinister could so much as look at him for tonight.

But despite all this Watanuki is restless, so he turns onto his side and gazes at Doumeki, whose profile is blurred without the aid of prescriptive lenses. He scoots closer for a better look, sits up on his elbows, rests his chin on his palm and sighs almost inaudibly.

Doumeki is so good-looking it makes Watanuki _seriously_ pissed off.

His hair is short, but thick, and full-bodied—not like Watanuki's. Watanuki thinks his own hair has the sole good trait of being inky-dark; otherwise it's fine, like a child's, and prone to embarrassing cowlicks and flyaways. Watanuki's gaze trails to the nape of Doumeki's neck, where the hair curls just slightly in a way that's almost endearing. This naturally leads his eyes to follow the strong line of Doumeki's jaw, which ends in a squared-off chin. It's all so very _masculine_, and Watanuki absently, irritably rubs his own rounded chin against his palm as he continues to stare at his temporary roommate.

Doumeki's eyes are closed as he sleeps (and thank god for that, Watanuki thinks with a shudder), with lashes that are dark but short, which is normal for a boy their age. The creases of his lids indicate how deep-set Doumeki's eyes are, which makes them alluring—_annoying_, Watanuki corrects himself, shaking his head. The deep, burnished gold that usually sees right through him is for now hidden by heavy lids, and Watanuki thinks he's probably thankful for that. His own eyes are an impossible deep blue, too bright of a contrast with his pale skin. Watanuki wishes sometimes _both_ his eyes were gold like Doumeki's, instead of just the one. Frankly, he's sure he looks even odder with one eye that suits him, and one that never did.

The straight line of Doumeki's brows is creased in his sleep, presumably by a dream, and Watanuki finds himself doing the strangest thing. He watches his free hand lift, watches his index finger brush softer than a butterfly's wing over the furrow in Doumeki's brows, and finds himself half-smiling as the creases disappear and Doumeki's forehead relaxes. As if unsatisfied, Watanuki's finger glides soundlessly down the bridge of Doumeki's nose. It's more a soft curve than a straight line—a pleasing cross between aristocratic and traditionally Asian. Watanuki thinks his own nose isn't much more than a button—and you can't properly intimidate someone looking down a button nose. He knows; he's tried.

Doumeki stirs just slightly, and as if burned Watanuki yanks his traitorous hand back to himself, eyes wide, face burning guiltily, heart hammering in his chest. But seconds turn into minutes and Doumeki doesn't wake. He purses his lips a bit, then relaxes again into peaceful sleep, and Watanuki stares at that _mouth_. He doesn't think it's normal for any guy to have a mouth like that. Watanuki's own lips are fairly standard fare for any man—a bit narrow, nothing really unmistakable. But Doumeki has this full lower lip that, upon catching sight of it, makes Watanuki want to…_lick_ it.

He doesn't do so.

But he _does _think about it.

Watanuki sighs to himself, because none of this obsessing over Doumeki's looks is anything new, but he can't bring himself to label what the obsession could mean. He's quite firmly in love with Himawari-chan, but he will admit to himself that Doumeki is…attractive. Maybe he can blame that on the shared eye, too…

Watanuki notices the arm propping up his head is losing feeling, so he lowers himself back to his pillow, letting his eyes wander lazily across the bronzed, broad expanse of collarbone and shoulder he can see from his new vantage point. Doumeki's muscles are also seriously unfair. They're not huge enough that Watanuki can quite complain, but they're obvious enough that every breath Doumeki takes highlights their lean shape, and the perfect, tanned skin is drawn taut over the swell of developing muscle. Watanuki feels his mind growing fuzzy as sleep begins to creep up on him, but undeterred he moves closer, wanting to see just a bit more, just a bit more voyeuristic, rude, inappropriate peeking before he _has_ to sleep…

=o=o=o=

Doumeki stirs in the early morning, feeling like he wants to sneeze. He doesn't open his eyes, unwilling to waste precious sleep. Instead he wrinkles his nose and turns his face away from whatever the offending thing is before the urge disappears. He sighs groggily in relief, turning back to where he was when he's met with a faceful of something soft—ah, crap, the sneezing-thing is still there. But what is it? Realizing he has no choice but to open his eyes, Doumeki swears to himself before blinking blearily, needing a few seconds to refocus before his eyes open wide.

The sneezing-thing is Watanuki. More precisely, it's Watanuki's hair, because Watanuki himself appears to be half in his own futon and half in Doumeki's, with his head resting on Doumeki's chest and a stupid smile on his face.

What?

But why…?

Doumeki would ask himself these questions, but it's so rare for him to catch Watanuki unguarded and _not_ yelling obscenities that instead he just stares. The thing Doumeki has always known is that Watanuki, while annoying, naïve, gullible, and loud, is also almost stupidly attractive. He looks so good that sexuality has nothing to do with it. Doumeki admires Watanuki the way one admires a painting; he doesn't really need to know _why_ he likes looking at it. He just likes to look, and that's it.

_Might as well look now._

Watanuki's hair is actually quite soft, once Doumeki moves his nose out of it. It's not silky-soft, like girls' hair, but more comfortable-soft, like a favorite shirt three washes away from falling apart. It isn't unruly like Doumeki's own hair, and it's enviably straight and shiny. Not that Doumeki himself would want shiny hair, but…somehow it suits Watanuki.

Watanuki's lashes are as dark as his hair, and kind of long, almost dusting his cheekbones as he sleeps. His eyes—Doumeki wishes he could see them now. Watanuki has the most brilliant blue eyes Doumeki has _ever_ seen, in a painting or in real life. They're almost inhumanly blue, so deep yet somehow so bright. They suit Watanuki's moon-pale skin, and the jet-black lashes that frame those eyes make them impossible to ignore. Doumeki always feels strange when he catches the gold of his own eyes reflected back at him from Watanuki's neutral stare. That dull, tarnished gold doesn't do Watanuki any justice.

Inexplicably, the rest of Watanuki's features are nearly normal, as if to not outdo the magnificence of his eyes. His nose is small, but in a sort of cute way, though Doumeki makes a face at thinking that to himself. His mouth is usually slanted in some sort of grimace or growl, but his lips…it isn't that they're particularly full, or even narrow. But the _shape_ of his lips is fascinating. Doumeki has found himself captivated by those lips for whole minutes when he's not paying attention to the words spilling angrily out of them. Watanuki has these lips that seem to always be perpetually seconds away from a kiss. When he pouts it's nearly unbearable; but when he's upset, they flatten into a thin line, and those eyes get painfully, gorgeously expressive.

Watanuki has the face of some tragic hero in a manga, and Doumeki knows he can't compare.

Not that he's ever wanted to. But Doumeki knows that next to Watanuki, he must look painfully plain by comparison. Doumeki doesn't shine and glow like Watanuki does. Doumeki blends in, and he doesn't miss the irony in that. Watanuki himself seems to hate attention, and while Doumeki doesn't crave it, he doesn't mind it either.

Watanuki suddenly shifts, and Doumeki snaps back to reality, feeling his ears and cheek warm up as his chest tightens guiltily. He knows it's weird to stare at someone while they sleep, and it's got to be even weirder to stare at your mostly-friend-occasionally-rival of the same gender while they sleep, and it's got to be _really_ strange to stare at that same person while they sleep _on your chest. _No, this won't do. Doumeki clumsily but carefully manages to return Watanuki to his own futon without disturbing him, and turns back onto his side to face away from him, his heart pounding in his ears as though he was nearly caught reading a dirty magazine. But it's fine now, Watanuki is sleeping somewhere behind him and all will be fine until the morning.

Doumeki is nearly asleep again when the nostalgic scent of cigarette smoke wafts over him, but he scrunches up his nose and burrows further into bed.

The scent becomes stronger now, but Doumeki clears his throat to get the smoke out, and pulls the covers up over his head.

A few moments pass until the cigarette smoke quite rudely puffs right up his nose, and Doumeki flails. "Christ! What the fuck?" Cursing blearily, he turns over to escape the smoke and finds himself face to face with Watanuki, who has that goofy smile on his face again, and combined with that damn smoke Doumeki thinks he has a pretty good idea what's going on. _Ugh. Even when he's dead he still makes me do the right thing. _"Fine, okay? Fine. I'll keep an eye on him. Now leave me alone, 'm tired… Go bother Watanuki in his dreams or whatever…" Doumeki grumbles to the room at large, and just as his eyes fall shut he swears he can feel a large familiar hand pat his head.

=o=o=o=

Watanuki wonders, when he wakes the next morning, why Doumeki has such a _stupid_ smile on his face. Maybe he's dreaming about girls, he thinks. But then why the smile? Maybe it's naked girls…

Doumeki awakes to a sharp smack on his head and steam actually coming out of Watanuki's ears as he yells something about "Oi, Doumeki! Dreaming about things like that when I'm sleeping over! HAVE SOME SHAME, YOU _PERVERT!"_

=o=o=o=

**End Chapter 1! I can't say when the next chapter will come, but please let me know what you liked or disliked about this chapter! **

**=^..^= kohimiruku**


	2. Speaking

_"Your freezing speech bubbles_

_seem to hold your words aloft_

_I want the smoky clouds of laughter _

_to swim about me forever more..._

_...the shells crack under our shoes like punctuation points_

_the planets bend between us_

_a hundred million suns and stars..._

_...it's all for you_

_It's all for you..."_

_\- Snow Patrol, "The Planets Bend Between Us"_

**=o=o=o=**

"The moon is full, tonight," Watanuki remarks, taking a drag off of that long, thin pipe he favors so much these days.

"Mm." Doumeki grunts in response, tipping back his sake.

Watanuki sighs, directing a sidelong glare at his drinking companion. "Your manners have really not improved over the years."

Doumeki shrugs, looking up at the moon as if he really sees it, and isn't just avoiding Watanuki's gaze. "Who's here to impress?"

Watanuki blinks, then slowly turns back to the view of the garden and that endless night sky. He's too practiced now to be caught fidgeting, but Doumeki notices that although Watanuki habitually lifts the pipe to his lips, he forgets to breathe in the smoke.

After all this time, as they've grown older, they've become careful with their words. Nothing ever means what it seems. There is so very much they cannot say without fear of hurting the other, or worse, pushing the other away.

It's a game they've been playing for years, now, only the fun disappeared long ago, and no one is really keeping score.

"How is school going? I heard they asked you to be an assistant professor of the folklore department," Watanuki comments after a length pause, lazily blowing out smoke and watching it drift out towards the starlight.

"Yeah. It's not a bad gig, and maybe I can learn more." Doumeki takes another sip of his sake, and Watanuki wants to ask, learn more about what?, but Doumeki's shoulders hunch up just a bit and Watanuki hears the unspoken, _maybe I can find out how to bring her back for you_.

"How is Kohane-chan doing?" Watanuki asks quickly.

_I don't want to talk about this._

"She's a really hard worker. I think she wants my job, honestly," Doumeki responds, the sound of his deep voice ringing into his glass.

_Sorry. I know. _

"Hm, you better watch out, then. Don't get lazy." A pause, and then Watanuki adjusts the hem of his kimono. "You should…be careful not to work too hard, though."

_Don't apologize. I'm just…you know how I get about it._

"Aa. I won't." Doumeki considers finishing off the sake before setting his glass aside and leaning back on his hands, looking up at the moon and the smoke curling up from Watanuki's pipe into the sky. "How about you? Working too hard?"

_Isn't there anything I can do? I feel so useless._

Watanuki snorts, pulling his legs up so he can sit more comfortably. "How can I work with a giant idiot like you sleeping on my porch and drinking all my sake every night? It's impossible to get anything done with you around all the damn time."

_You're here, so that's enough for now._

"I'll keep coming back, then." Doumeki's voice is carefully calm, in that serious way he used to say things when they were in high school, the way he used to annoy Watanuki just for the fun of it.

Purposefully, he says this like it's a joke.

He has to, because if he says it seriously, the way they both know he means it, it would do too much to their relationship.

Watanuki takes a very quiet breath and absentmindedly reaches up to adjust his glasses, as if he even needs to. He fiddles with his pipe, turning it this way and that. He pushes his kimono sleeve up, then pulls it back down. And then, he exhales.

"…Moron. Like I need you around that much." Watanuki responds with his deadpan humor, in that dry voice he started to use a few years ago, the one that covers up a multitude of emotions.

Doumeki hears every single sentiment behind those words.

The gratitude, the embarrassment, the awkwardness, and the vague beginnings of that word they have been skirting around for some time now.

They sit together for a long time, in companionable silence, drinking in each other's presence. The air is thick with words they want to say, but in a comfortable sort of way. There will be time for another conversation, when the time is right. They tell themselves there will be time, even if they know their time together is borrowed, and they will have to pay it back sooner than they'd like.

Carefully, making it seem casual, Doumeki offers an outstretched palm to Watanuki while looking up at the moon.

Not meeting Doumeki's gaze, for all the world looking as though he doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary, Watanuki takes Doumeki's hand in his own.

The words they speak are a necessary farce to keep them both going, to keep them sane. Watanuki knows it, deep in his heart, that Doumeki, _his_ Doumeki, will die before she comes back. He doesn't think Doumeki knows it just yet, but he'll figure it out if Watanuki lets it slip, if their eyes meet, because they know each other so well, inside and out. But it's a truth Watanuki doesn't even want to let himself find out, not yet.

For his part, Doumeki knows Watanuki stands in a different timeline now. He senses the strange otherness radiating from Watanuki, the feeling that he belongs outside of time and space, the feeling that he's landed in from some other dimension. Doumeki doesn't know the details, but he knows Watanuki is slipping through his fingers like sand, and that in time he will begin to slip through Doumeki's fingers like water. And in more time still, Doumeki will lose him.

"_Hitsuzen_," Doumeki whispers, and it is a word that Watanuki has not heard in so, _so_ long, and it echoes in his mind along with her voice. But when she said it, it was happy-sad. When Doumeki says it, it's rueful, longing, bittersweet—with more of an edge than Watanuki would have thought him capable of.

_It's what brought us together, it brought you to me, even if it ends badly…_

"_Hitsuzen_," Watanuki agrees in a soft murmur, leaning to the side to let his head rest against Doumeki's broad shoulder. In Watanuki's mouth, the word takes on a grim resignation, but he half-laughs when he says it, almost like someone laughing through tears.

_It's what will keep us together. Don't look ahead._

Watanuki's grip on Doumeki's hand tightens.

…_Don't look ahead._

**=o=o=o=**

**And so ends Chapter 2! I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I know it won't be more than a couple months from now at the latest. Please let me know what you liked or disliked, any feedback is welcome!**

**\- kohimiruku**


	3. Touching

**A/N: Happy New Year, readers! I'm sorry for the long wait on this chapter-I really had difficulty deciding where I wanted to go. Or rather, I knew what I originally wanted, but the story demanded something else. I really appreciate your patience, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Thanks for all your reviews-they're really helpful, and very encouraging!**

**Warnings for: strong language, and somewhat-spoilers for Rou Adayume.**

**=o=o=o=**

Doumeki is running.

He had been sleeping in his bed, next to his wife, whose belly has only recently started to grow around their developing son. Dinner had been good, and the night was warm, so they'd both fallen asleep easily. The crickets had been chirping, the wind chimes on their porch were ringing softly in the summer breeze, and all had been peaceful.

Until, sometime before midnight, Doumeki had woken up with a cold sweat running down his back and Watanuki's name on his lips. He'd sat up with a start, and then stifled a gasp at the unexpected touch of his wife's hand on his arm. She'd looked up at him with those large, luminous eyes, their clarity untouched by the haze of recent sleep.

"Something's wrong," he had told her.

She had merely nodded once, with a solemnity that scared even him. "Go."

And so Doumeki is running, sweat beading off his forehead and above his upper lip. His sandals sound like gunshots in his ears as they slap against the pavement, his heartbeat thumping to a frantic sing-song in his ears: _Wata-nuki, Wata-nuki_. He rounds the corner to the shop, that familiar gate beckoning him in, and he carelessly kicks his sandals off in the front yard.

Doumeki can't find Mokona, doesn't hear Maru or Moro, and the vague feeling of terror that woke him from his sleep intensifies with each passing second. He runs along the hallways, blindly searching, afraid of what he'll find but feeling an old, familiar dread bouncing around in his stomach. He thinks if he doesn't get there in time, Watanuki will—

No, he can't let himself think it. He won't consider the possibility. Doumeki throws open doors, scans the kitchen, the bath, Watanuki's bedroom, and he begins to fear Watanuki has gone somewhere Doumeki cannot follow when he realizes there is still one place he hasn't checked. Doumeki rushes to the very back of the shop, where a four-sided ward has been set up, giving off bright, blinding light in every direction. Doumeki knows full well the consequences of disrupting that ward, but he rips one of the panels aside anyway, wincing and biting back a curse at the hot, sharp flash of pain running down his hand and arm, his palm seared where the panel frame had touched his skin. And there, once the light has died down, is Watanuki, face down on the floor.

Doumeki turns him over, his index and middle fingers going immediately to Watanuki's throat. He blinks, frowns, and then repositions his fingers, but Doumeki can only hear his own pulse thundering in his ears. "No." The word falls from his lips before he can stop it, then repeats itself in a near-hysteric, breathless mantra. He hasn't resuscitated anyone since that time in high school, when a freshman fainted during an archery club meeting, but his body more or less remembers the motions. He breathes into Watanuki's slack mouth, presses down rhythmically onto Watanuki's chest; his hands start to get tired, and he's sure whole minutes have passed since he started, but Doumeki doesn't stop until he finally hears the weak cough, followed by a wet, desperate gasp for air.

=o=o=o=

Watanuki wakes from what feels like a long, confusing, messy fever-dream. It hurts to breathe, for some reason, and there's an odd noise coming from somewhere above him. His eyes feel heavy but he struggles to open them, habitually reaching out a weak hand to look for his glasses before belatedly remembering he doesn't need them now—hasn't needed them for some time, if he's honest.

"Where…?" His voice is rough and cracking, like he needs water. It takes him a few more seconds to realize someone is holding him. There are strong arms around his waist, a familiar scent wafting enticingly through the air. The person holding him says nothing, but frankly, as far as Watanuki is concerned, that's par for the course. Watanuki reaches up to those broad shoulders, hating the fact that, just now, he needs the extra support to haul himself up into a sitting position.

"Doum'ki… Let—ugh, let go, you big moron." Watanuki coughs and clears his throat, feeling a little unsteady, pushing at Doumeki's shoulders. The other man keeps his head lowered, the position obscuring his face, and it's starting to make Watanuki uncomfortable. "I didn't think you needed affection this badly," Watanuki remarks dryly, intending to break the ice, but Doumeki suddenly lets out a breath that sounds distinctly, unmistakably like a sob.

When Doumeki lifts his head, his dark eyes are bloodshot, his lashes still spiked with tears. "You weren't fucking breathing," he spits out. "You weren't _breathing_, you idiot. I ran all the way here to find you stuck in that goddamn ward of yours—" he points to the broken panel some feet away, and a distant part of Watanuki mourns the loss of the woodwork, "—I forced it open, hauled you out and you were _dead_. Your heart had stopped, and—" Doumeki pauses, his breath hitching dangerously, his chest heaving. "I didn't—you were—you just…"

Watanuki reaches out to smooth Doumeki's hair back from his sweat-slicked forehead, then strokes his head slowly. He moves a little at a time so as not to startle the other man, eventually folding Doumeki into his arms while Doumeki trembles against him, his otherwise quiet, erratic breathing occasionally punctuated by a great big sniffling sob, rough fingers tangling themselves into the back of Watanuki's borrowed kimono. Watanuki says nothing, but he presses his lips against the crown of Doumeki's head, one hand still stroking his hair, while the other is firmly clutching the fabric of Doumeki's nightshirt.

Some time passes before they can pull apart and look each other in the eye.

"I fucked up," Watanuki states honestly, and Doumeki nods. At that reproving look, Watanuki winces a little. "I worried Kohane-chan, too, didn't I?"

"You did." Doumeki's voice is low and still carrying vestiges of anger, one eyebrow cocked at an impressively terrifying angle. "It isn't good for her in her condition, you know."

Watanuki winces again, bowing slightly. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll—I'll make some of those pickles she likes, the next time you drop by."

Doumeki snorts at that, drawing his legs up as he sits back on his palms. "We're still trying to finish all that food you've been making nonstop for the past three months."

"She's _pregnant_!" Watanuki explodes, sniffing haughtily as he sits upright. "I doubt your useless brain knows what to feed her, and she needs nutritious meals packed full of vitamins!" He draws more breath to continue his petty argument, but Doumeki leans forward and cups Watanuki's cheek in his large, rough palm, startling Watanuki into obedient silence. Doumeki stares at him for some time, his eyes dark and painfully unreadable, until finally, he speaks.

"Don't you ever—_ever_—pull that shit on me again."

Watanuki looks straight at him, his gaze clear and direct. "I'll try my best not to."

Doumeki studies him in favor of giving a response, noting the blue and gold eyes framed by straight lashes, looking right into his own without fear, and without embarrassment. His cheekbones are more prominent than they used to be, but they still sweep down into the smooth jaw and the rounded-off chin. He's still so beautiful; he still reminds Doumeki of something fleeting and unreal, something too wondrous for this world.

Watanuki allows himself to be subject to the intent, searching gaze. He doesn't know exactly what Doumeki is thinking, but he thinks, not for the first time, that he can understand why so many girls have fallen for him. The look on Doumeki's face when he's studying something is almost too serious, but it suits him unbearably well. His black brows furrow over his straight nose, and his full lip—oh, at one time that lip could send Watanuki into near convulsions just thinking about it—is pursed in concentration. His bone structure is undeniably masculine and strong, his eyelashes still surprisingly thick over those hypnotically deep-set, golden eyes.

Doumeki's lips part, and his voice is suddenly thin and vulnerable, the words nearly lost in the sound of the crickets chirping in the thick humidity of a balmy summer night, his tone deepened with pain and desperation. "I thought I'd really lost you this time." He can't stop himself from drawing closer, his breath stirring Watanuki's hair as Doumeki uses the hand on Watanuki's cheek to tip his face upwards.

Watanuki blindly grabs for him, one hand managing to find purchase in Doumeki's shirt sleeve, the other stroking his hair. He doesn't have the words, or the time to find the words; he has that forbidden emotion tightening his throat and the steady pulse of desire in his stomach, fear of the unknown in his chest warring with years of staring at that broad back protecting him, wishing all this time that he could do more than just stare. "Doumeki," he whispers, his voice choked up, his eyes sliding shut, and Watanuki closes the distance between them.

When there is only the smallest of spaces between their mouths, Doumeki lets out a pained sound, shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "We can't," he whispers, sounding anguished, but not moving away. Watanuki's eyelashes are brushing his own, and suddenly Doumeki craves him with a vicious, greedy hunger, the sheer strength of it threatening to take away all higher thinking. But he forces himself to speak, because they're not teenagers anymore, and they have reasons not to do this. "I'm…married now."

Watanuki understands, because Doumeki in time learned to love his wife in a fashion, and she grew to love Doumeki in her own way, and Watanuki himself cares for both husband and wife so deeply it hurts. But Doumeki has always, really, been _his_ and Watanuki is trembling in nothing more and nothing less than desire, shot through with the sharp, bitter tang of longing and tempered by the sweet, mindless pulse of lust. "Then—then just," Watanuki whispers back, leaning in further, "just give me this."

Doumeki shudders as Watanuki's lips press against the corner of Doumeki's mouth. It is an almost-kiss which will have to last them years to come, and they hold on to each other for as long as they can stand it.

Watanuki fights with himself not to pressure Doumeki for more, and Doumeki wills himself not to ask for it.

They part ways after Doumeki sees to it that Watanuki is safely in bed, Maru and Moro asleep on either side of him like pastel guardian angels. Doumeki doesn't know where they'd disappeared to earlier, and he doesn't care to find out. Their child-sized arms are wound around their new master, their brows wrinkled even as they sleep, and Watanuki smiles ruefully as he looks down at them. "Seems like I worried a lot of people tonight."

Doumeki raises a brow and looks elsewhere, but his lack of words does nothing to hide the obvious lingering disapproval in his stance.

"Doumeki…" Watanuki's voice is soft as he pleads, for once, just a bit, looking up at his one-time rival. "I said I was sorry."

Doumeki lets out a breath, folding his arms and shifting his weight from one leg to the other before he finally appears to let the topic go. "Yeah. Well, I'm going home. Make sure you rest. And eat properly." His words are brusque, but his strict orders only make his genuine, underlying concern more obvious. "I won't let her come by if you're not taking care of yourself."

Watanuki snorts, the very picture of disdain with his eyes half-lidded and his brows raised. "You aren't her keeper, you giant moron. This isn't feudal Japan." All at once, though, the earlier fatigue returns, and he lets the expression slip as he curls into his blankets, eyes shutting against his will.

Doumeki nods, satisfied, and turns to go. Silhouetted by starlight in the doorway, he looks over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

There is no reply as he slides the bedroom door closed.

=o=o=o=

"I'm _exhausted_."

Kohane laughs even as she slides a steaming hot breakfast in front of her disgruntled, unshaven husband. "But wasn't it worth it?" she half-teases him, and Doumeki raises his head to level her with a blank, sleepy stare.

"This won't be the last time," Kohane says, suddenly turning serious. "You'll do it again."

Immediately he thinks of the not-kiss, and Doumeki blinks, guilt running hotly through his veins and startling him fully awake. "Do...what again?"

Doumeki's wife looks at him across the low table, her hands folded over each other, her large eyes crystal clear. "You'll rescue him."

Doumeki considers her words, and sets down his chopsticks. "Will he let me?"

Kohane says nothing, and looks away.


End file.
